Per Ardua Ad Astra
by Closet Scrawler
Summary: The motto of the Searcher, emblazoned upon her hull, comes to have special meaning as Buck Rogers struggles to forge a friendship where the only thing they seem to have in common is the death of an innocent woman. -Not slash-
1. Chapter 1

******Historian's Note: **Immediately following 'Time of the Hawk', because the potential of that character was never, _ever_ realized.

******Author's Note:** While I found the first season of this show to be humorous and fun, it is the second season that truly captures my devotion. It said to be a mixture of Star Trek and Battlestar Gallactica (original versions of both), but I believe it has a distinct and unique flavor all its own. There is an enormous gap between the first and second season, and the series ended with so many loose ends that my muse long ago felt an overwhelming urge to gather up all the frayed edges and attempt to weave them back into the tapestry.

There isn't a lot of fanfic out there for Buck Rogers, so I have decided to make my own contribution by posting this scrawling, incomplete though it is.

* * *

******Per Ardua Ad Astra**

* * *

Buck brought his hand to his eyes to shade them from the glare of the sun and sighed. He watched the crew scurrying around the battered ship, removing the various evidence seals and tags that had been placed in and around the craft.

Earth was usually extremely prompt to salvage its own ships from whatever mishaps that left any pieces large enough to cart away. Buck supposed it was a carryover from the Draconian war. But Hawk's ship, and Wilma's fighter, had been deemed as potential evidence in Hawk's trial. Both had first been thoroughly scanned by imagers, and then members of the Searcher's own security had made sure it remained untouched until a properly equipped investigative team could arrive from Earth to document everything.

Typical Directorate overkill, in Buck's opinion. Hawk had never claimed innocence.

Buck winced at the screech of metal as a technician forcefully removed a dangling shred from Hawk's ship. Wilma had flown down with Doctor Goodfellow to explore the caves. When Buck had arrived later, he had sent them back in the shuttle he'd been using to try to ferret out his quarry. Wilma hadn't protested, probably hadn't wanted to argue the matter with him. Getting Doctor Goodfellow out of there and back to the ship was more of a priority. Now her fighter would be sitting in a repair bay for another week, in addition to the three weeks it had been sitting in this forest waiting for the trial to end.

But everything he'd heard up to that point had indicated the man was an excellent pilot, with a superb ship, and at the time he'd been thinking the shuttle would be too bulky a thing to find this 'Hawk' with. That was before he'd found Koori. Buck sighed again and closed his eyes, dropping his arm to his side.

Koori.

The sound of metal groaning as the salvage crews prepped the ship brought memories, vivid behind his eyelids. He squeezed his eyes closed tighter, but could not hide from his conscience. He'd thought himself to be so clever. It was a fairly cowardly act, using a civilian as bait, but he hadn't known he was at war. He hadn't known how very desperate Hawk was. He hadn't known he was hunting down a man driven to the edge of madness by pain and loss. He'd thought he was dealing with a vicious murderer, a simple pirate.

He'd seen the shadow, and had looked up through the plexiglass of the canopy and saw Hawk's ship descending, two huge talons stretching out towards him. Caught off guard, Buck had veered the fighter away. But not fast enough - one talon of Hawk's ship had punched through the roof of the fighter, depressurizing the small cabin in a brief flurry of rushing air. Koori's cry of pain would haunt him forever. Up to that point, it had been almost like a game. Hotshot pilots showing off, trading taunts over the 'com.

But in that instant, everything had changed.

___He turned in the cockpit to look behind him and saw the woman pinned to the back of the seat, a crimson stain spreading far too quickly across the fabric. "Hawk!" he called to the open 'com. "She's hurt – you've speared her!"_

"___Koori?" The single word, uttered in a shocked whisper, sent Buck's mind frantically trying to work out some way out of this. This was not how it was supposed to happen!_

"___Hawk," she gasped, "it was m-my fault."_

___Hawk could not retract the talons without shredding her. He told Buck to release the controls - that he would bring both ships down in a controlled crash. Buck briefly considered the possibility that he was lying, but he suddenly felt, with a clarity that almost hurt, that Hawk wanted nothing more at that moment than to get her to the ground, alive._

___So he had released the controls, placing all their fates in the hands of a self-confessed murderer._

___Buck leaned back and braced his arm on Koori's uninjured shoulder, trying to support her as the two ____ships, locked together in a parody of avian rapture, plummeted to the ground._

___Terran fighter vessels had the appearance of wings, but they were far too short to provide any real ability to glide. Hawk's wide-winged ship, fashioned in the likeness of a bird of prey, was taking the brunt of that task. The trees rushed up to greet them, the shriek of tortured metal vying with the wail of wind through the shattered canopy of the cockpit. The ships shuddered under the stress, and Koori could do nothing but gasp, unable to get enough breath even to scream._

___The claws of Hawk's ship had never been intended to bring a ship down like this, bound together. They were designed to retract, shredding the enemy vessel without destroying it to force it to land. In the end, that is what saved them – for the strain snapped the metal talon off at the 'knee'. Koori screamed in pure agony, and blacked out._

___Suddenly relieved of its burden, Hawk's ship went spinning off into the forest, engines roaring. Buck snatched at the controls, wrenching the nose of the craft upwards. The fighter's port stabilizer was damaged; the ship would not be able to hover in order to come to a proper landing. He managed to dodge the largest of the trees, and simply plowed through others. He aimed for a shimmering reflection, a glint of sunlight on water. It was a stream. It would do little to cushion the landing, but he used it anyway – he needed a path clear of trees. The fighter splashed into the shallow stream, slid along the pebbled bottom, and coasted to a halt._

___Buck leaned against the control panel, gasping. Then he shut down the engines, unfastened his flight harness, and twisted in his seat to get a clear look at Koori. The fighter was a narrow vessel, with two seats, one behind the other. There was no room between the seats and the sides of the cockpit, and Buck had to kneel in his chair and lean over the top to get to her._

___She was unconscious, but breathing. He gently touched the metal bar imbedded in her shoulder. It had dug itself deeper into her flesh when it had been wrenched free of Hawk's ship. There was almost no blood on the front of her clothing, but the back of the seat, and now the floor, was red. He suspected the metal itself was keeping her from bleeding completely out. He followed the bar upwards with his eyes. It came in through the canopy… he didn't think he could open it without hurting her._

___He drew his laser pistol, adjusted the setting, and sent a quick prayer to any deities that might be listening. He was glad that she wasn't awake for this. Then he began to burn through the metal._

"Captain Rogers, sir?" The question brought Buck to the present with a start and he opened his eyes. God, he was tired.

"The ship is ready for transport, sir," the technician said. Buck did not know his name. He wore the tall headdress and long flowing robes that were the preferred attire of a Neutralis official. A rather uncreative name for a city, Buck mused. Still, the name stated the purpose of the city quite plainly, and translated into all known languages well. The Neutralans were known for their practicality as well as their discretion.

Buck nodded. "Thank you. Guess we should get this show on the road, then," he added. If the man had any difficulty understanding the reference, his face did nothing to betray his confusion. He simply gave a bow, and headed back to his workers.

Hawk's ship lay on its belly at the end of a furrow of scorched earth. The remaining talon, which Buck realized also served as the landing gear, had crumpled beneath the ship and stuck out to the side, leaving the nose of the ship pressed against the moist forest soil. The right wing had been wrenched upwards by the impact when the ship's non-existent right landing strut had failed to keep the ship upright. It looked for all the world like a giant, wounded eagle, laying broken on the forest floor. In the past three weeks, dead leaves and other debris had accumulated on the craft.

He looked up as an enormous ship came to a hover over their work site, and the techs began hooking up various cables to a heavy line the hovering ship lowered to them.

When everyone had cleared the area, the salvage ship began to winch up the tow line. Hawk's ship rose with the sound of protesting metal. The bent wing had been reinforced, and he'd been told it would hold together for the transport, but he still watched it to reassure himself. The winch pulled Hawk's ship up into the cargo bay of the salvage ship, and giant twin doors closed under it. Then, turning ponderously, it headed for the sky.

Buck sighed in satisfaction. He had told Hawk that the damage wasn't that bad, that it could be repaired easily for him to use again. He hadn't really known that at the time, but he'd been willing to say anything, promise anything, just to get Hawk to at least consider joining the Searcher on her quest. Buck was not a psychologist, but he knew, ___knew_ with the absolute certainty gained by experience, how important having a ___purpose_to existing would be right now.

And Buck had acquired enough friends in high enough places to make the offer. The irony of the situation was not lost to him… he now had a much better understanding of what it must have been like for Doctor Huer to deal with a very bitter five hundred year old refugee. His appreciation and gratitude for the man's patience had risen in the past few weeks. And as much as Buck had lost, it was nothing compared to what Hawk had lost. Hawk didn't want his help, but Buck was determined that there would be a Huer for him.

He rubbed the back of his neck tiredly, and headed to his shuttle.


	2. Chapter 2

Hawk glared at the freedom of the stars through the viewport in his prison.

Quarters, he mentally corrected himself. From his first step aboard the ship, he had not been treated as a criminal. There had been guards assigned to him, first while he recovered in sickbay, and then when he was given what he had come to realize now were what served this ship as a visiting dignitary's quarters. But he had been treated with respect, which had surprised him. He had been permitted to retain his flight suit, which also served as armor, which also surprised him.

Hawk knew this was all a direct result of Rogers' intervention.

For nearly three weeks, Hawk had suffered through the human's daily visits and listened to him practically beg for him to plead his case. Hawk could not tell for certain what position the man held. He wore no uniform and did not address those higher in rank with the formality Hawk had read was the custom of humans, and yet it was clear that he carried with him an enormous amount of influence. Rogers was an enigma, and Hawk could not stop himself from being curious. The only thing he was certain of, at this point, was that he owed not only his life but his relative freedom to this human. Hawk had developed a grudging respect for him, and did not think the man a liar. And true to his word, the Galactic Council had indeed taken Captain Rogers suggestion of a compromise, and Hawk was to be considered a member of this crew.

He glanced around his new quarters, taking in the minimal, standard issue furnishings. A bunk, desk, chair. Crew quarters aboard the Searcher were not extravagant. They consisted of a single main room, with a small restroom on one side and a closed closet on the other. A round viewport was placed directly across from the main entrance, looking out onto the stars. This was his home, now. He brushed the fingers of his gloved hand across the glass, seeing in his mind the twinkling eyes of his beloved. She had warned him, had tried to get him to let go of his hate. Had he listened to her, she would be alive now. His war against the crimes of humanity had been brought to an end by her death, and this prison was his own self-imposed penance.

A short robot had visited him today, offering its services. Despite his silence, however, the robot had returned with food and a stack of clothing. Hawk crossed the room and idly sorted through the neatly folded uniforms on the bed, pushing down his dread of donning the human clothing. There was little choice in the matter, however. The few possessions he had salvaged from the burning ruins of his village had all been left behind when he'd been captured. The Searcher had remained in orbit around Throm for the hearing, and Rogers had offered to collect anything he wanted from the surface when he'd been declared innocent. He had struggled to keep himself from striking the earthman in anger. His people, his family, everyone he had ever cared for, were gone – he had no wish to surround himself with painful reminders. Hawk realized now that he might have been somewhat hasty, but he refused to display any weakness to the humans by changing his mind. This was his home, now. He tried to resign himself to the notion of wearing the white and blue uniform of the Searcher, because his one flight suit would hardly be enough.

The door chimed quietly, and Hawk turned stiffly. "Open."

The door responded to his voice and slid into the wall with a little hiss of displaced air. And there was the annoying human himself, light from the corridor spilling past the threshold. He stuck his head into Hawk's quarters with raised eyebrows. "You developing film in here?" he asked, and then entered. The door hissed closed behind him, returning the cabin to its starlit gloom.

Hawk's brows drew together in confusion. "Film of what?" he asked. Could he possibly mean mold? Hawk glanced around the barren cabin, then gave himself a mental slap for even wondering.

An odd, wistful expression crossed Rogers face, and then was gone with a dismissive wave of his hand. "Nothin'. Well at least I get a reply today," he said and smiled.

Hawk said nothing.

An awkward silence descended, and Rogers sighed. "So," he said finally, looking around the room. "How are ya settling in?"

Hawk stared back at him, wondering why the human was so determined to waste time on such pointless conversation.

Rogers looked away with a frustrated little sigh, and his eyes settled on the pile of clothing at Hawk's fingertips. "You know," he said slowly. "Twiki's pretty good at making just about anything you could imagine, if you can describe it to him well enough. You don't have to wear those," he added at Hawk's blank expression, and pointed at the uniforms.

Hawk dropped the sleeve of the tunic he was holding. "I have studied your Earth history. It is your way to either kill or force conformity."

Rogers' mouth tightened into an angry line. "Not anymore," he said. "We're better than that now." Hawk leaned back slightly, startled by the force of the reply. He personally thought Rogers was delusional on that score, but the human continued before he could summon an answer. "I'm working on having you made an ambassador to your people. I just need to call in a few favors and—"

Hawk's bitterness overflowed and spilled out of him before he could stop himself. "I have no people," he interrupted sharply, and moved to leave the room before he lost control of his temper.

Rogers stepped in front of him and Hawk was forced to stop or run him down. "I have been busting my ass to try to get the Defense Directorate to not only grant you ambassador status, but to do it before the Searcher reaches her next assignment." He jabbed a finger against the feathery embellishments of Hawk's black-armored chest. "The least you could do is show a little gratitude!"

Hawk matched Rogers' anger with his own and slapped the offending hand away. "I do not need your protection."

Rogers growled in aggravation. "Yes, Hawk, you do!" he snapped. "And no matter how stubborn you are, whether you want it or not, you have it. Why? Because I'm just as stubborn as you are! And I absolutely refuse to allow you to be… be…" he made a grasping motion as though trying to pull the words he wanted from the air. "_Absorbed_. Even if it was possible. Personally, I think you'd die first. I've got to find some way around that, and that's the only thing I can think of."

Hawk glowered at him.

Rogers sighed and dropped his hands to his sides, his anger seeming to bleed out of him with the breath. "Hawk…" the human said, then stopped. He seemed to be choosing his words carefully. "Hawk, you are either the last of your kind that humans will ever meet, or you are the first of many. Now, you agreed to join the Searcher in its mission to seek out the lost tribes of Earth – all of them, not just human," he said. "We just might run into some of your people. There's a pretty good chance they won't welcome us with open arms. Would you want humans to blunder into that, and retaliate? Wouldn't it be better if you, well, mediated?" Rogers held both hands out, in an almost pleading gesture.

Hawk was not an angry, vengeful man by nature. Most of the fury had now burned out of him, leaving behind only an aching, empty darkness in his soul. He still hated humans, and considered them on the whole to be ignorant, selfish creatures that cared for little else but themselves. But this particular human was different. He spoke with a conviction and passion that could only be truth, and something of that passion was contagious.

Hawk found it was becoming more and more difficult to hate Buck Rogers.

And as the hatred lessened, a very small kernel of hope had been born. It was possible that there were others of his kind out there. A maelstrom of bitterness and grief kept trying to quench that flicker of optimism, but it was all he had now. It was what Koori would have wanted. "What do you want of me, earthman?" Hawk demanded, and was dismayed by the note of defeat in his own voice.

"All I want," Rogers said slowly, "is for you to give us a chance, Hawk. Give _me_ a chance. Let me help you. Okay?"

Hawk stared hard at him, but saw only sincerity in the human's eyes. Hawk nodded slowly.

Rogers released his breath in a short sigh of relief. "Okay, let's start with basics," he said, and pointed at the clothing. "You really don't have to wear the uniform. Just let Twiki know what you want, and he can whip up just about anything." Hawk's eyes roved over the human's outfit, and Rogers grinned proudly. "Yep, this is Twiki's handiwork – great, isn't it?"

Hawk chose to say nothing rather than risk insulting the human's odd choice of attire. He admitted privately, however, that the notion of not wearing the Searcher's uniform was appealing.

"Next order of business," Rogers continued and cleared his throat. "Doctor Goodfellow says you've hardly eaten anything at all during the trial, or today. But at some point you _are_ going to have to eat."

Hawk crossed the room and picked up a flat, white disk from a stack that was the only thing on the surface of the desk. "These are revolting."

Rogers snorted as Hawk tossed the disk back down. "Well, your scans indicated that despite ten thousands years of 'divergent evolution', as the good doctor put it, you're still made of basically the same stuff as humans. You weren't very forthcoming about your dietary requirements and the food disks are at least edible… if you can call it that. Fortunately for both of us, I insisted that the Searcher not be allowed to leave port with nothing but those things in the pantry." Rogers hesitated suddenly, shifting his weight from one foot to the other. "Look, the officer's lounge has some real food. Maybe we could catch some breakfast before heading up to the bridge?"

Hawk felt a flash of anger. He knew where the bridge was, and he did not require an escort. Even as he opened his mouth, however, Rogers' face fell and his shoulders slumped in disappointment. Hawk frowned with confusion, and tilted his head slightly to look at the human better. Rogers tensed at the movement, aware of the scrutiny. He tried to maintain the air of casualness, but his entire body was suddenly radiating a wary hopefulness. And for once, he remained utterly silent. Hawk's anger abruptly dissolved into an uncomfortable sense of guilt. The human was only offering to share meals, a gesture of friendship that was apparently something their cultures did have in common. Hawk felt a twinge of remorse, blinked, and tilted his head the other way.

Slowly, almost against his will, Hawk nodded.

Rogers seemed surprised, but his smile was genuine. He turned and palmed the panel next to the door to open it, wincing at the comparably bright light of the hallway. "The Searcher's shakedown cruise didn't go quite the way we had hoped," he said as they walked side by side down the corridor to the lift at the end. He pushed a button on the wall panel once they were inside, and the lift began to move. "Earth lost contact with the Argus system about three hundred years ago, but now we at least have them back on the star charts. The next one on the list dropped off our radar before Argus, and we should be there within the hour."

Hawk remained silent as the lift doors parted, and followed the human down the corridor. This was his first day of freedom, and he'd been told he had full reign to go wherever he wished on the ship. He had not done so, however, and this was his first trip without a security escort and without the halls being cleared for his passage. A cluster of crewmen greeted Rogers with friendly waves as they passed in the hall, but shied awkwardly away when Hawk simply stared back at them.

"It might help if you cut back on the whole glare of doom thing, Hawk," Rogers said out of the side of his mouth, while smiling and waving back at them. Hawk said nothing, and Rogers sighed. "Right," the human said, and led the way through the double sliding doors into the ship's lounge.

It was not what Hawk had expected. The metal walls were interspersed with wooden panels, and plants were dotted around nearly every open space as well as hanging from the ceiling. The place was a stark contrast to the clinical sterility of the rest of the ship, and Hawk paused a moment on the threshold just to breath in the scent of living air. Hawk blinked in surprise as Rogers took hold of his arm, but allowed the human to steer him towards a wooden counter on one side of the room.

"Okay," Rogers said and rubbed his hands together. "What'll it be?"

Hawk was not completely unfamiliar with the concept of a food selector, but he had never used one during his visits to Neutralis. He understood, in theory, how one worked but found the idea less than appetizing. Still… anything would be better than those awful food disks. Hawk tilted his head at the screen, but though he spoke Terran well enough, he found the language difficult to read and spent several long moments attempting to decipher the menu.

"This might help," Rogers said, and touched the screen a few times to narrow down the options. "We took on some supplies while we were here, so maybe these will look a little familiar."

It did simplify matters. Hawk made his selection and the tray appeared a moment later. He slid it out of the receptacle and set it on the counter before him, eying the results dubiously. It looked as it should, a fist-sized green ball covered in pointed barbs, but Hawk did not trust technology as much as humans did. Even so, it was the first truly familiar thing Hawk had seen in weeks.

"Well, that looks interesting," Rogers commented from beside him, and made the same choice. Rogers scooped up his tray and headed for a table.

Hawk started to follow, but stopped and looked around the room with a sudden wave of apprehension. He had always been a solitary person, even among his own people. And though this room was far from crowded, it still had many more people than he was accustomed to being around. Humans. Aside from his personal distrust of the species in general, he was a stranger here. He did not know their customs. The air was filled with the smells of strange foods, even the lighting was different. The sheer _alieness_ hit him with an almost physical shock as he stood there in the middle of the Searcher's officer's lounge, holding a pale yellow tray. The idea that he was going to have to live and work amongst them suddenly glued his boots to the deck.

"Hey," Rogers said quietly, appearing from out of nowhere. "You okay?"

Hawk straightened his shoulders, only then realizing he had taken a somewhat defensive stance. "Yes," he said quickly, not wanting to appear weak or foolish.

Rogers hesitated, and seemed about to say something. In the end, however, he said nothing and simply led the way to a small table in a far corner of the room. "So what exactly is this thing?" Rogers asked as he set his tray down. Hawk copied him, seating himself cautiously in a chair across the table. The human picked up the spiky green ball gingerly, turning it this way and that to look at it. "And how in the world are you supposed to eat it?"

Much of the disquiet curled in Hawk's belly eased away. "It is called a juju fruit," he said as he took off his gloves. "And you must first crack the shell like so." He picked up the one on his tray and dug his thumbnail into a nearly invisible seam that circled the fruit, wedging it in deeper until the rind split with a soft pop. He peeled back the protective spines with an ease born of practice, and within a few moments the skin of the fruit lay on his tray in two empty halves. Hawk held up the round ball of green flesh that was exposed and turned it so that Rogers could see the area where the stem joined. He squeezed the fruit just right, and it fell apart into many segments.

"All right," Rogers said confidently, and proceeded to attempt the same feat.

The human tried to split the rind but only succeeded in jabbing his palm with one of the spines. "Ow," Rogers muttered and dropped the fruit. He quickly chased it across the tabletop as it rolled away, and Hawk felt a smile twitch at his mouth for the first time in many months. Hawk bit into one of the slices, savoring the tart flavor as he watched Rogers battle with the juju. Hawk had nearly finished his meal by the time the human had several jagged chunks of the rind on his tray. One of the segments had been punctured somewhere along the way, and green juice dribbled between his fingers.

Eventually, Rogers held up one of the chunks with a triumphant grin. Hawk pointedly picked up a napkin on his tray and held it out to the human without comment. Rogers snatched it out of his hand with an aggrieved air as Hawk popped the last slice of juju into his mouth.

"And you wonder why no one wants to eat your idea of 'real' food," a voice said above them, and both men looked up at Wilma Deering standing at the table. "You're disgusting, Buck, you know that?"

"What?" Rogers asked innocently, dabbing at the sticky juice running down his arm. "I just need a little practice is all."

Deering set her tray on the small table and took a seat. Rogers made a noise of disappointment as he looked at her plate. "The food disks are a much more efficient way of maintaining proper body weight," she said, picking up one of the plain white wafers and leaning back in her chair to eye Rogers' waistline. "As I'm sure you know."

Rogers gave her a sloppy salute and a smile. "Touché," he quipped, but didn't seem the least bit put off by the implied insult. "So, what'd I do today? I've only been awake for an hour, and—"

The intercom cut him off. "Shuttle bay paging Captain Rogers, Shuttle bay paging Captain Rogers."

Rogers heaved a sigh, and dropped the mangled juju onto his tray. "Be right back," he said, getting to his feet and, still wiping at his arm with the napkin, crossed the lounge to the wallcom.

"Good morning, Hawk," Deering said pleasantly as she picked up a food disk and bit into it.

Hawk inclined his head politely, and swallowed the last of his breakfast. His stomach knotted unhappily as he watched Rogers weave between the tables towards the far wall. Everyone he passed offered friendly greetings and smiles. It was as if the human carried a torch of cheerfulness everywhere he went, and Hawk felt oddly cold in the absence of that torch. It was a strange thought, but he was not given time to dwell on it.

"Looks like he's added another one," Deering said, and Hawk followed her gaze upwards. The woman lifted an arm to brush at the leaves overflowing from a pot hanging above their table, and Hawk blinked in surprise as he recognized the plant. "I always thought it was odd that Buck liked to have pots of dirt in his home – but on a spaceship?" She smiled up at the plant. "They do have a certain charm, though, don't they?"

"Yes," Hawk agreed quietly. He thought it was very sad that these humans seemed to have so little contact with the natural world, but he did not say so.

"Buck insisted, though," she said with a little sigh.

Hawk frowned slightly in confusion. Perhaps he did not understand the command structure of the Searcher. "Does Rogers command this ship?" he asked.

Deering laughed lightly. "No, despite the Directorate doing everything in their power to try and get him to take the job," she answered. "But Buck Rogers wanted to be the one doing the exploring, not sitting in a chair on the bridge." At Hawk's confused frown, she gave a wave of her hand that took in the ship as a whole. "This entire mission is his idea. The Searcher was originally a warship that was about to be decommissioned, but Buck managed to talk the Directorate into replacing its armaments with sensors and science labs. Buck had the final say about everything on this ship, even these ridiculous little outfits," she said and gestured down at her pleated skirt. "Though, I suppose they do look rather flattering." She looked up at Hawk sternly. "Don't you dare tell him I said that."

Hawk gave a small shake of his head, and looked across the room towards Rogers. The human was agitated about something, for he was leaning in close to the panel and frowning as he spoke.

"Most of the crew is handpicked by either Buck or Doctor Huer," Deering continued. "Admiral Asimov can be a bit blustery at times, but he's a good, honest man. I don't know how he did it, but Buck eventually managed to convince him to come out of retirement and take the post."

"He seems to be good at convincing people," Hawk said softly.

"Yes," Deering replied thoughtfully. "There's something about him that… _changes_ people. But don't tell him I said that, either."

"Said what?" Rogers asked, returning to their table. He dropped into his seat and picked up his abandoned breakfast.

"What's the news on Hawk's ship?" Deering said, smoothly redirecting the conversation.

"Well, good news and bad news," Rogers answered. Hawk's belly clenched into a tight ball of tension, for he had mixed feelings about his ship. "On the one hand, repairs are coming along nicely and she'll be good as new before you know it. Bad news is it won't be before we get to the Canopis star cluster." He took a bit of the juju, and grinned at Hawk. "Hey, this is pretty good," he said around his mouthful of food.

"We don't know what happened to that colony, or why they stopped communications," Deering said. "It's probably best if you two go down to the surface in one shuttle anyway."

Rogers shrugged. "I know. Still, I was hoping Hawk would be able to take her out on his first mission with the Searcher."

Hawk appreciated the sentiment, but said nothing.

"C'mon, let's get going," Rogers said, and scooped up the rest of the juju as he got to his feet. "Big day today," he said and gave Hawk a companionable slap on the shoulder.


	3. Chapter 3

**Author's Note:** It was bothering me that there are no character selection options for this category, so I took the liberty of submitting a list. It has been many years since I have watched this old show, so it's likely that I am missing a few memorable names. But they can always be added.

* * *

**(O)**

* * *

Only yesterday, Hawk had stood on the bridge of the Searcher as a condemned prisoner, certain of his fate. He had not desired to die, but neither did he wish to live out his remaining years as the last of his kind. He had sworn a vow to the ancient god of his people, to kill humans until they killed him, but his thirst for revenge had finally begun to wane. He had thought it fitting, then, that the humans finish what they had started. But it would seem that Makemake had a different fate planned for him.

Rogers shoved the last of the fruit hastily into his mouth just as the doors slid open, and the three of them entered the bridge. The room had not changed, but it now lacked the ominous sense of impending doom that had colored Hawk's perception of it. His keen eyes roved over the humans working at their stations, and he listened to the humming, clicking, and beeping of the machines surrounding him in a new light.

"Ah, there you are," Asimov said from the control pedestal where less than a day ago Hawk had awaited Earth's judgment. The admiral stepped down as Deering crossed to the fore of the bridge and conferred quietly with the man stationed there. "They haven't answered our hails, but we think that's because they can't hear us. Scans of the planet don't show much in the way of technology down there. We did find this, though," he said, pointing at a monitor.

"A low level power output," Deering said. "We're reading several of them, but only in this one area of the planet."

Rogers made a thoughtful noise, and swallowed his breakfast. "Looks like a decent sized city."

Asimov nodded. "We think it's the original settlement."

"Well, sounds like as good a place as any to drop a line," Rogers said and clapped his hands together. When he got nothing but blank stares, he turned to Hawk. "Let's go say hello."

"Captain Rogers," Asimov started with a stern note of reprimand, and Rogers turned slowly to give the admiral a polite look of question. But there was a hard, determined edge to the expression, and there was clearly some kind of communication passing between them in the sudden, awkward silence that descended. Asimov's eyes flicked from Rogers to Hawk and back again, and then the man heaved a long suffering sigh. "Good luck."

Rogers smiled. "Thank you, Admiral."

Hawk paused to look back over his shoulder as he followed Rogers through the door, and caught Asimov's displeased frown before the door slid closed. Hawk was shrewd enough to know that he was the spoils of a brief battle of wills. He turned and saw that Rogers was nearly to the lift, so he broke into a light jog to catch up.

"We'll stop by your ship on our way," Rogers said with a smile as the lift arrived.

Hawk's chest tightened with an odd mixture of anticipation and dread and he made no reply as the lift descended. The doors parted to reveal the massive hanger bay of the Searcher. Several fighters were ranged along one side. Opposite those were a variety of shuttles, each slightly different, designed for different tasks. In the center of the bay, surrounded by scaffolding, was his ship.

His breath caught in his throat when they stepped out onto the gantry overlooking the bay, and he found himself simply staring. He cast a critical eye over the lines of his damaged ship and winced at the sight of the plain metal strut temporarily serving as the missing talon, for it served to remind him that his ship was the instrument of his beloved's death. But this ship was the nucleus of his fondest memories, and he was determined to hold onto what little of Koori he had left. Despite everything, he felt a bittersweet smile tug at his mouth.

Beside him, Rogers breathed out a soft sigh and moved past him, boots clanking on the metal stairs that led to the bottom of the bay. Hawk followed, barely taking his eyes off his ship as they neared. Within moments, they were standing beside it. Rogers stood back as Hawk circled it slowly, examining every inch. The strut held the ship upright, where a framework of metal bars surrounded the damaged wing. The wing itself was covered in scorch marks from the welding that had been required to repair it, but otherwise looked intact.

At the raptor-beaked prow, Hawk absently pulled his right glove off with his left hand, and gently touched the metal of the hull. Rogers came up beside him and leaned casually against the ship. Hawk turned to him, his hand still caressing the metal, and found that the human's presence was not as intrusive as it should have been.

Rogers smiled. "They tell me she'll be as good as new by the time we get back. Flight worthy now, actually - you'd just have a hard time landing."

Hawk turned back to his ship, stroking the nose as though calming a nervous beast. How easy it would be, to simply climb into his ship and fly away. They would not be able to stop him. This was not a war vessel; it would not even be able to shoot him down. They could launch fighters after him, but his ship was far faster than any of those clumsy things. He stood for several long minutes, simply gazing upon his ship and feeling the cold metal of it on his skin. At length, he sighed and lowered his arm. His honor was one of the very few things he had remaining to him, and he had no desire to live as a hunted criminal.

He turned to look at Rogers, wondering if the human suspected any of what he had been considering, and blinked in surprise. Rogers was in the same pose, arms crossed while leaning against the ship, but his head had tilted to rest against the hull and his eyes had drifted half closed. Hawk sighed, and began putting his glove back on. Rogers woke with a start, blinking to clear his vision. Hawk was silent as the human pushed away from the ship with a soft grunt of effort.

"Sorry," Rogers said, stifling a yawn with the back of his hand.

"You require sleep," Hawk answered.

Rogers snorted. "As soon as I do, I just know those pinheads are gonna manage to push something else through, and I'll be damned if I let it happen," he said as he scrubbed a hand across his eyes. "But yeah, gonna have to get some real shuteye soon," he conceded.

Hawk's brows drew together in confusion as he carefully sifted through the jumble of words. "Pinheads?" he asked. He had studied the language and thought he had a reasonable grasp of it, but he was beginning to wonder if Terran was Rogers' native tongue.

Rogers sighed in irritation, apparently at himself, and started walking towards one of the square, blocky shuttles. Hawk cast one last glance at his ship before following. Rogers slapped the panel with far more force than was needed, and the door to the shuttle hissed aside. His shoulder clipped the edge of the frame, but he ignored it and headed toward the forward cabin. Hawk entered more cautiously, watching the human, not entirely certain he wished to be in a small cubicle with him.

"I do not understand the problem," Hawk said slowly.

Rogers dropped into the pilot's seat without answering, and Hawk took the co-pilot position beside him. The human began flipping switches and dials, starting the engines, and addressed the helm as though unable to look at Hawk. "Every shuttle that belongs to the Searcher has a built-in locator beacon, in case of a crash landing or something like that." Rogers' right hand came to rest on the throttle between their seats, and stopped. The human turned to look at him with regret. "But you should know, the one in your ship is designed to self destruct if there's any attempt to remove it."

Hawk was not surprised. "They do not trust me."

Rogers rubbed at his forehead as though trying to brush away a headache. "They don't know you," he said. "It was a condition of your release into our… custody."

Hawk tilted his head slightly, and peered at Rogers from under heavy, feathered brows. He supposed he should be angered by this condition placed upon his freedom, but instead there was only a sort of resignation. "It is expected," Hawk said simply, and turned away to study the controls of this unfamiliar vessel.

Rogers took a breath as though to speak, but let it rush out in a frustrated huff of air and flipped a switch on the consol instead. A small screen came to life and Wilma Deering's face appeared. "Requesting permission for departure," Rogers said.

"Permission granted," Deering responded formally, but then hesitated. "And Buck…" she added, pausing again as if reconsidering, "Be careful."

"When am I ever not careful?" he grinned back at her.

The woman shook her head, but wasn't quite able to hide the tiny smile at the defiant question. "Searcher out," Deering responded, and the channel closed.

Rogers chuckled quietly, and Hawk had the impression that their quarrelsome exchanges were not what they appeared to be at first glance. He said nothing on the matter, however, and the shuttle left the bay in silence. The blue and green world filled the main viewscreen as they neared the planet, but Rogers was looking at a monitor embedded in the helm that displayed a rear view of the Searcher. There was a soft look of pride on his face as the ship shrank from view.

"Why do you smile?" Hawk asked, realizing he was speaking only after the words had left his mouth.

Rogers tapped the screen. "I don't get to see the Searcher very often."

Hawk studied the picture for a long moment. As was the case with every human ship Hawk had ever seen, the thing was a massive assembly of metal. There was no grace to the design. And yet, Rogers clearly had a possessive sort of pride of the Searcher, and Hawk found himself not wishing to offend. But he was curious. "You believe the ship to be… pleasant to look upon?"

Rogers laughed and flipped off the screen. "No, she's a lumpy bucket of rust," he said happily, and reached for the helm as they began to enter the atmosphere. Hawk frowned out the main window, not wanting to press the issue, but he did not understand. He did not even understand _why_ he wanted to understand.

Rogers looked away from the controls long enough to catch Hawk's expression, and bit his bottom lip in thought. "The Searcher means a lot to me," Rogers said quietly, as though it were some kind of confession. "The Holocaust didn't just devastate Earth. Compared to the original population, there weren't very many people left. But Earth couldn't sustain them. We barely had space technology at the time, but the largest countries pooled their resources and put everything they had into building colony ships. They took what they could, and left. Not all of them made it, but a lot did. There are humans all over this part of the galaxy now, some of them more advanced than Earth, some a lot less. Some kept in touch, some didn't."

"Humans spread like a plague," Hawk said.

"Well… I guess we do have that tendency," Rogers said reluctantly, and Hawk hid his surprise at the admission. "But the people of Earth, those that stayed or were left behind… they toughed it out. They had to live with what had happened. And it changed them, Hawk." Rogers shook his head, and concentrated on the helm for a moment until they had cleared the outer layer. Clouds streamed past the windshield as they descended lower, and soon forested treetops were visible far below. "They eventually recovered a lot of their technology, and more, and focused on trying to heal Earth. And just when they were starting to get somewhere, the Draconians came. And then I came."

Rogers paused then, and his hands went still on the controls. His eyes unfocused, seeming to see something very far away. After a moment, he returned to the present with a strange little sigh. "Well, to make a long story short, Earth is only just now at the point where we can go looking for some of the colonies that we've lost contact with. But the thing is… no one wants to, Hawk." Rogers made a frustrated gesture with both hands. "They've spent so much time isolated from nature and the outside universe that they've lost almost all interest in exploring, in learning, in _knowing_. Sometimes I wonder if the gene was bred out of them."

Hawk's first thought was that the fewer humans crawling through the universe, the better. Let them stay on their destroyed planet, let them reap the fruits of their labors. But Rogers' sad expression formed a pool of shame in Hawk's gut, and he did not know why.

"But I found enough to fill the Searcher," Rogers continued as they passed a sandy beach and skimmed over a wide expanse of ocean. "Sort of a hodgepodge of military folk displaced by the Draconian Peace Treaty, and a bunch of scientists. It's sometimes hard to get them to work together, but it's worked so far. The Searcher is Earth's first purely exploratory ship, and I'm hoping it'll sort of… rekindle something that I believe is at the core of every being that Earth gave birth to."

"And what is that?" Hawk asked carefully, curious despite himself.

Rogers looked at him with a sly grin. "Curiosty."

Hawk looked away, both irritated and embarrassed.

"Oh, come on, Hawk," Rogers said with exasperation. "I think it's more than obvious that you're the explorer type." Hawk said nothing, staring stonily out the windshield at the water passing beneath them. There was a pause as Rogers chose his words carefully, and when he spoke again the flippant tone was gone. "When I was looking for your hide-out," he finally continued, "my scanners didn't detect anything that even remotely resembled technology. You said it yourself – your people were a simple people. And yet you fly a _ship_, Hawk – you're obviously a little different."

Hawk gritted his teeth and said nothing, and Rogers gave a little sigh before deciding to leave well enough alone. They traveled in an uncomfortable silence for several minutes, and Hawk could just detect the dark line of trees in the distance before his anger cooled. And once it dissipated, Hawk felt a strange craving. He did not know what it was about this human that made him want to talk. He had lashed out with words of fury in that cave, even though he had known there was no use in trying to explain to a _human_. The earthman had not interrupted, had not tried to defend the actions of his kind, had done nothing but sit in the darkness and listen. And Hawk had talked, saying more in those few minutes than he had in the months since he had begun his rampage of vengeance.

There was something about the human that brought his anger to the surface, then leeched it away like a festering boil that needed to be purged.

"They came twenty seven of your earth years ago," Hawk said, breaking the silence. The words came out haltingly, forced from him by a need that he could not understand. "Throm is a small world, and the farthest of the livable ones from the sun. At the time that my people settled, it was in an ice age. But that was what we were accustomed to, and that was why we chose it. When humans came to the Argus system, Throm was too small and too far away to bother with. But Throm has an elliptical orbit, and eventually it drew closer to the sun. Our world warmed, the glaciers melted, and it became tempting to humans. And they came."

The ocean with the line of trees in the distance faded away, and he remembered when the day the ships descended. He could see the ships coming and going, but not what they were doing once they landed, so he decided to set out on a journey to go and see. He'd been warned by the elders that it was unwise. It was best if they hid from them, and remained undetected for as long as possible. But Hawk had been young, not yet a man. Stubborn, and foolish. They were creatures that had the power of flight, and he was driven by curiosity. It had taken him nearly a month to travel there, and by that time the Neutralans had constructed most of their spaceport.

Their legends had always spoken of humans as savages, but Hawk did not see that in the Neutralans. They were surprised to see him, but not violent. They welcomed him to their city, taught him their language and their history. Hawk knew they had a violent past, but it seemed to him that it was long ago. They were businessmen, and Hawk came to learn that they valued the baubles that were common in some caves he knew of. Hawk bartered these for the construction of his ship, designed by his own hand. The first day he flew – actually _flew_ in the sky – was a memory that he would cherish for the rest of his life.

It was nearly two years before he returned to his clan, and it was much the same as when he had left. He was past his time to give up his fledgling's name, and he chose Hawk after completing his rights of passage. A bird he had learned of in his studies, native to Earth; a creature that Throm had no equivalent to. He had stayed with his people for a while, but he was consumed with a thirst for knowledge that eventually drew him back to the city. The Neutralan's port was a great success – it attracted beings from all over the quadrant. Humans and creatures so alien looking that Hawk could do nothing but stare at them as they passed in the streets.

Hawk had never once divulged the location of his village, but it was inevitable that they were found. Some rather unsavory examples of humanity had gone looking for gems in the rocks and had stumbled upon them. When Hawk had heard of it, he had immediately flown home. The humans had left, for they had been few and the clan more numerous than they, but his people were in a panic. There was talk of fleeing farther into the mountains, to let the humans have the useless rocks they so desired.

But Hawk had known that doing so would only prolong the inevitable. And so he had returned to Neutralis to spread the word that if any human so much as stepped foot in the Valley of Eagles, he would swoop down upon them and tear them to shreds. Even then, Hawk was known for his ability as a pilot. He was a fine hunter amongst his people, and he honed these skills until that, too, became well known. No human would dare challenge him, and his people were safe for many years.

Koori had been the only one who ever understood him. For years, Hawk had flitted back and forth between the city and the clan, torn by his desire to live among his own people and by his hunger for everything that was not clan. She had waited so patiently, for many years. It was when she overcame her own fear and journeyed with him to Neutralis that he realized he had found his lifemate. She alone would fly with him to the soaring place, she alone came to understand him.

Hawk blinked, and the memory of the Valley dissolved around him. He swallowed thickly, struggling to rein in his emotions. It took him a moment to recall where he was, and he realized he was staring out the windshield at a field of tall green grass waving in a gentle breeze. He jerked his head around to look at Rogers, his shoulders hunching slightly in a guarded wariness as he struggled to hide his sudden horror at just how much he had said.

The earthman blinked a couple times, and Hawk was shocked to see moisture glittering in his eyes. Rogers opened his mouth to speak, but choked on the words. He cleared his throat, and Hawk did not know what he had expected the human to say, but it was not, "I'm so sorry, Hawk."

Anger instantly welled up within him, and Hawk's brows drew together. A flood of harsh words sprang to mind, but died on his tongue at Rogers' expression. It was as if the open, honest sincerity drained away his anger and sent it dissipating into the air around them. It left Hawk feeling tired and drained, but somehow… better. Hawk's shoulders slumped in exhaustion and he turned away. "What's done is done, and the blame is more mine than anyone else's."

Rogers drew breath to speak, but whatever he would have said was cut off by the communicator. "Searcher to Rogers, come in. Requesting status update."

Hawk took a deep breath and straightened his shoulders. Rogers seemed to debate whether or not to answer the summons, but they both knew he had to. In truth, Hawk was grateful for the interruption. His entire body was knotted with tension, and he was confused and disturbed by his own actions. It was as if, once he began speaking, the words simply poured out of him in a tidal wave of… _need_. It was not something he wanted to admit to, let alone discuss farther.

Rogers flipped the switch. "We've landed about a kilometer from the city. We're just, uh, checking supplies in case we end up staying overnight."

"Shouldn't you have done that before you left?" Deering replied with just a touch of disapproval.

"Yeah, well, sue me," Rogers said.

"What?" she asked, then hurried on. "Never mind. Don't forget to check in every two hours, Buck."

"Gotcha. Rogers over an' out," he said and flipped the switch. Rogers looked around for a moment, as though trying to get his bearings. "Oh, right," he said and got to his feet. Hawk watched as the human crossed to the back of the cabin and opened a locker to root around inside. "Should have given you these before we took off, but I forgot." He pulled out four devices and tossed two of them to Hawk. "One's a communicator, and the other is a data recorder," he explained as he tucked each into a different pocket of his jacket.

Hawk stood, and tried to decide where he might store the machines. Rogers gave him a short laugh, and tossed him a belt. Hawk caught it awkwardly with one hand, then set the devices on his chair so he could put on the belt. He noted that he was given no weapon, but neither did Rogers carry one for this mission. Once they were both geared, Rogers hit the button that opened the shuttle's doors.

Hawk stepped foot on the first alien planet in his life.


End file.
